A New Look
by Maejones
Summary: A Sherlolly Short. Does anyone else want to see Sherlock change it up a bit after seven years on the BBC show? I do. Here's a bit of fun tension. :) Also, now added smut. Good times!
1. Chapter 1

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Molly peeked through the peep-hole on her flat's door. At first, all she could see was a coiling mass of shiny curls. Then, the mass lifted and the exaggerated, fish-bowl vision of Sherlock's large, stormy-ocean irises filled her viewport. His nose wrinkled comically, a second later his lips enlarged as he raised them and spoke almost directly into her eyeball.

"Molly, I know you are there. Come, you must recognize my knock by now," his voice reverberated through the door.

She glanced down at her skimpy, yellow cotton tank and oversized flannel, pink plaid bottoms. She sighed. He'd seen her in worse at least. With a quick intake of breath, she fixed a perturbed expression on her face and swung open the door.

"I was just about to hop into bed," she claimed as she held open the door, "what do you want?"

In his typical Sherlockian manner, he raised his brows while also squinting. His eyes flicked from shoulder to shoulder, down the middle of her chest and then looped back up as if he wasn't quite certain where he should look. Molly felt heat spread across her upper chest at the awkward look on his face. His lips parted but instead of speaking, he held up scissors in his right hand followed jauntily by a fine-toothed comb in his left. After a moment, he cleared his throat.

"I need a haircut," he stated.

She frowned. "Am I to take that to mean you want me to trim your hair? At ten o'clock at night … o-on a Tuesday?"

"Yes," he brushed past her into her flat as if the matter were already settled, "I am in want of a disguise for a bit of sleuthing I must do tonight."

Molly blinked in disbelief and snapped her door shut. She slowly spun on her heel, crossed her arms and watched Sherlock busy himself with the setup of an impromptu salon. He discarded his shoes and jacket and then, she swallowed thickly, he extracated himself from his shirt! Her eyes burned unblinkingly. The muscles of his back flexed with the depositing of one of her dining-set chairs in the middle of her living room. An instant later, he draped a towel over his shoulders, sat in the chair with his wide back to her and levetated his scissors.

"I am under a bit of a time constraint here, Molly," he murmured without turning around.

She tentatively approached him, rubbing her arms. "Sh-Sherlock, I have never styled anyone's hair before! I will make a hash out of it!"

He turned his head so she could see just one brooding eye. "Molly, I have watched you stitch countless corpses. You have the most finesse and dexterity of any person in my acquaintance and … I trust you. Well, I trust you not to draw blood. Mrs. Hudson doesn't have the steadiest hands, you know, and I don't particularly want John fondling my head. That would be a little, erm - uncomfortable, to say the least."

He swivelled fully in his seat and stared up at her with slightly rounded eyes. His unique, angular bone structure was so breathtakingly handsome up close and lord, but he had decided to turn on his boyish appeal. His features softened.

"Please, Molly?" He rumbled.

Her entire face felt tight as she tried to resist his charms. A muscle flecked in his cheek and she knew he was putting her on but she groaned and snatched the scissors and comb from his grasp.

"Fine," she muttered, "do not even think of complaining if you don't care for the results."

He grinned and twisted away. "Excellent! Take a couple inches off, will you?"

Molly stared at the back of his head for a few seconds. She reached up to touch his locks but her fingers hovered in hesitation. She had always wanted to touch his hair. Right then, she was a heartbeat away of finally experiencing its decadence and almost couldn't stand the anticipation. Her belly quivered. Finally, she gathered her courage and delved her fingers into the thick, silky tresses. She closed her eyes as the strands slipped between her knuckles and the pads of her fingers contacted his warm head. Lord, but it felt better than she imagined. She pushed her hand over his scalp several times to assess the length of his hair. Her eyes flew open when she thought she heard the sound of a low moan.

"S-Sorry!" She whispered.

"Mm? Oh, no, it feels good," he mumbled, "but the massage will have to wait for another time."

Her breath caught in her throat. She shook her head. He couldn't really mean that, could he? She chewed her lip and willed her raging hormones into submission. Tentatively, she pulled up the first section of his hair, mouthed a eulogy for his beautiful curls and began snipping. Cautiously at first, and then more confidently, she trimmed his hair. The ends of it fell like feathers to the towel around his shoulders. Every once in a while when her attention drifted from her task to admire his half-naked, steely form, her hands shook. However, she soldiered on.

Molly's fears about reducing his attractiveness were quickly dispelled. The more she trimmed and closer she cut, the more she revealed the strong lines of his neck and head. It was impossible to make this man unappealing, she realized. Still, she couldn't bring herself to cut the hair on the top of his head too short. Thirty minutes after she had started, she shook the towel out her window and then returned for her final review. She stood in front of him with her hands on either side of his head and assessed her very first attempt at a haircut. A smile tugged the corners of her lips. He lifted his chin.

"Well?" He murmured.

She fluffed his hair, dragged her fingers along the shorter sides and flicked a coil of curl that still wanted to fall over his forehead. He looked god awfully handsome. His high cheeks were more visible, his eyes appeared brighter. Her regard slid over his face. Even his jaw seemed a bit more robust.

"You look good," she uttered absentmindedly, then caught herself, "I-I mean, y-you look nice … fine, I guess. Haha, maybe I am in the wrong career … yes, maybe I should have gone to-to beauty school . . ."

She knew she was rambling as her fingers kneaded his scalp. His eyes were suddenly fixed on her face and she palpably felt his acute dissection. Her stomach coiled in a knot and her cheeks flushed. Mortification burned right from one side of her face, across her nose, to the other side. Even her ears flamed. She avoided his direct eye contact for as long as she could but eventually lost the battle. When their eyes met, his pupils were as large as she had ever seen them.

"You are exactly where you are meant to be, Molly," he murmured.

"Oh? This is my calling, is it?" She teased nervously. "Tending to Sherlock Holmes' every whim?"

She felt a tug on the waistband of her bottoms and was compelled forward. Her legs nearly turned to jelly as he pulled her between his knees.

"Yes," his eyes narrowed seductively, "that is something for which you are uniquely qualified."


	2. Chapter 2

"Wh-What are you doing?" Molly whispered.

Her fingers jittered anxiously on his temples where his newly shortened hair felt a bit like silky straw. Sherlock's full lips were so close, she could see a sheen of moisture just along their inside edges. She couldn't take her eyes from them as they tweaked up at the corner.

"Thanking you," he murmured.

She sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers crept under her tank. She was surprised by the slight abrasiveness of his calloused digits and the incredible heat of his hand as it slipped around her waist. Her flesh tingled all the way to where his fingers spread out and he urged her forwards by the small of her back. As he drew her closer still, she was forced to steady herself on his bare shoulders. Hormones flooded her system in a total betrayal of her good sense. All of a sudden, she was hyper-aware of every fraction of his flesh under her arms and the way his hand spanned from nearly one side of her lower back to the other. One by one, his fingers tensed, gently pressing into her skin. Her heart started pounding. His pupils had nearly obliterated his irises. His whole form lifted and fell with every breath. Each dragged from his lungs more ragged than the last.

"Doesn't th-thanking me normally involve crime solving or something of that nature?" She panted mere millimeters from his mouth.

His other hand travelled up her leg to rest on her hip where his thumb rubbed absentmindedly along her hip bone through her bottoms.

"Only as a poor alternative when the subject of your gratitude is not free to accept something more," he muttered.

"Oh, Lord, m-more?"

He nodded, feathered his lips against hers and groaned. "Molly-"

She found herself insanely nervous as she realized he wasn't just flirting with her. She panicked. There was no way the man she had been infatuated with well … forever, could possibly reciprocate any feelings for her, could he? She thought she might blow a blood vessel in her brain at any moment from the sheer shock of it.

"Sherlock, I-I …you … don't you have sleuthing to do?"

"I am in the midst of it," he replied in a low tone and kissed her neck.

She closed her eyes involuntarily. "Y-You said you needed a disguise, though."

Molly almost collapsed as his lips sort of suckled her neck. She linked her arms behind his neck and moaned involuntarily.

"What if I told you it was all a ruse?" He mumbled against her throat. "That I turned over in my bed and realized I didn't want another night to pass without knowing your touch?"

She looked down at him incredulously the same moment he lifted his face and glanced up. "I wouldn't believe y-you."

His eyes twitched and slanted. "Hmm, then I guess I will have to convince you otherwise."

Molly couldn't catch her breath. Sherlock's eyes bore into hers like as if his desire was a serpent trying to burrow beneath her skin. She licked her lips nervously. His eyes dipped and he watched her tongue disappear back into her mouth.

"Alright," her arms tightened around his neck, her fingers rubbed the stubby little hairs on his nape, "convince me … you … you w-want me."

His nostrils flared as he regarded her and for a terrifying moment she thought he might admit that his confession had been false. However, with his newly trimmed locks exposing his beautiful face she could see every glorious measure of him and detected no hint of deception. Then he moved. She nearly jumped out of her skin as his head drifted towards hers and then paused. Anxious pangs shot through her abdomen as he hovered. Their noses bumped gently and he tilted his head slightly. Her greedy, opened mouth followed his but instead of kissing her, he laughed softly.

"Hmm, your skin is flushed, your breathing is labored and you are trembling in my arms," his fingers pressed into her bare back, "I don't know that I need to do much more, Molly. I think you're already convinced."

"Sherlock!"

"Mm, hmm?"

"Oh, God! Kiss me already," she breathed.

His eyes hooded. His free hand left her hip and reached up to palm the side of her head. An instant later, she felt his warm breath pulse against her lips and then, his mouth sought hers. A thousand tiny fireworks exploded in her tummy like party sparklers as she felt the insistent demand of his lips. Starved, she fell forward and kissed him back, hard. She realized she was desperate for this. Years and years she had dreamt about snogging Sherlock and it was pure decadent insanity actually having his mouth feed from hers. Her insides washed over and over with a frenetic fission. Then with a growling sound, his tongue plunged into her mouth and found its counterpart. The wet friction of its velvety surface sliding and thrusting against her flesh caused her nether regions to erupt with sudden need.

It was in that instant when the copulation of their tongues was akin to snakes writhing together that their encounter recklessly escalated. Suddenly, it wasn't enough to just be kissing like horny teenagers, their clothes had to go. Molly broke away to yank her tank over her head. Sherlock fumbled with and then unclasped her bra. They stood up together and kept kissing one another clumsily between the abandonment of each new article of clothing. Sherlock nearly toppled over as he stomped out of his trousers and underwear. In short order, they fell back onto Molly's flowered sofa in a tangle of limbs and bodies rubbing together.

"Molly," Sherlock groaned as he ground his ridiculously hard erection against her lower stomach, "oh, Christ, Molly, I need to be inside you."

She gripped fistfuls of his short curls as he kissed her neck. She couldn't believe what was happening. Sherlock's heavy body pinned her to her sofa, her breasts were mashed up against his chest, his long, thick cock seared her belly, her core was hot and spasms kept infusing it with more heat and wetness. It was madness, but her limited patience had run out. She felt hollow and achy and needy which she knew only he could remedy.

"Yes, Sherlock, ummmm, please? Please! I need that too."

He shuddered at her plea, shifted and his hand moved between her legs where Molly was more than ready for him. His fingers slipped through her slickness. He made a deep guttural sound in his throat and then she felt something larger and wider rub intimately against her entrance. The swollen mass pressed forward and pushed open her entry. She hissed in a breath as her flesh stretched.

"Oh, dear Lord," she panted at the delicious feel of his invasion. "Unh, oh … fuck!"

Molly spread her legs to relieve the pressure but it kept increasing until she felt his head breach her interior. Sherlock grunted, cursed and slammed forwards. She gasped as the thick, rutted length of him plunged deep into her womb like a steely piston.

"Hu-uh!" She cried. "Oh, fff- unh. Yes, Sherlock! Oh, my God."

She let her head fall back as she savored the taut feel of his tight fit. If ever she felt fulfilled in her life, this was the moment. She shifted her hips up to allow him to seat himself to the hilt and groaned when he sank that little bit further and his hips pressed down on hers. Her hands slid under his arms and gripped his round arse. Her breaths scalded her lips as the surreal became real. Sherlock, her veritable obsession from the moment she had met him, was embedded within her like a horny stake. She squeezed him once and his breath hitched. His hips jerked. Her skin flashed hot.

"Molly," he seemed to sense something, "are you good?"

"Yes," she kissed him once shyly, "s-so good. Please … more …"

Sherlock chased her lips and kissed her as he gave a little thrust. She clung to him, kissing him back greedily until what was happening between her thighs overwhelmed her senses and she whimpered on his lips. Sherlock inhaled a deep breath, dropped his forehead to her shoulder, braced himself on the couch and began to pump more vigorously. His shaft withdrew cautiously at first, thrusting back inside her body slowly before he began to wheeze with the effort to control his movements. Molly squeezed his bum as it flexed and urged him on. She salivated every time his muscles tightened because she knew another stroke of pleasure would follow. Soon, her clit throbbed like the long drawn out pluck of a bass. Each stroke increased the pitch of her vibration, like a bow sliding over an ever tightening string. Every nerve in her body hummed impatiently to that tune until the racket became too much. Then, as if his playing had become too frantic, the string let loose and the crack of its snap reverberated from her clit inwards and then outwards to the rest of her body. Over and over, spasms wracked her form. She sobbed from the absolute relief of it.

"Molly," Sherlock then cursed, "hell!"

His large form tensed under her hands. He plunged into her a final time and then his member jerked and she felt the emptying of it as he came. His frame shook from one end to the other, then he deflated onto his elbows like a collapsing balloon. For a moment, they laid there still entwined while his hips pulsed as if echoing what they had just finished. When Molly moved beneath him to get more comfortable. He quickly sat up on the sofa, pulling her up with him until she was seated on his lap with his shaft still inside her.

Light blue eyes regarded her softly with a look of wonder as he cradled her face. He was still breathing heavily, his newly shorter hair stuck to his head, a sheen of sweat glinted off his forehead but he had never looked more attractive to Molly.

"Well, soooo … there you have it," he said between heavy pants as he searched her face, "God … you … you are so beautiful."

She blushed furiously as she cast her eyes down at his naked form. "Erm, y-you are too, like … every inch of you is perfect."

"I'm not," he murmured, "but I feel that way when I'm with you."


End file.
